


Duty

by Bridget, Trojie



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-21
Updated: 2010-07-21
Packaged: 2017-10-10 17:31:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bridget/pseuds/Bridget, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during 'Voyage of the Dawn Treader'. Edmund's return to Narnia is everything Caspian could have hoped for, at least at the beginning. But everything is a lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duty

**Author's Note:**

> We are not C.S. Lewis. Because our Muse is Edmund and his was clearly Lucy.
> 
> Contains slash, overthinking, confusion, drunkenness, hammocks, bulkheads, sailors' knots... the usual combo. Spoilers for 'The Voyage of the Dawn Treader', and it would really, really help to have read that. In fact, bits of the fic probably won't make sense if you haven't read it. Titles in the piece indicate at what portion of VODT the action is taking place - this fic aims to fit _around_ the book rather than take the place of any of it.
> 
> Important note about ages: Lewis's maths was spastic, is all we can say. For the purposes of this story, Edmund is physically probably around sixteen and mentally at least twenty-five; Caspian is likewise somewhere around sixteen or seventeen. The 'underage' tag has therefore been used.
> 
> Beta-read by the wonderful Ansela Jonla

**Cair Paravel**

When Caspian says, the day after the Pevensies leave Narnia, that he wants to look for the seven lords, his counsellors give him the verbal equivalent of a pat on the head and make encouraging motions towards some of the daughters of influential Telmarine lords whose _specially confirmed_ support would be particularly useful. Caspian, who hadn't meant that he wanted to set sail _now_, bides his time and makes it into an oath on his coronation day.

He then spends three years jumping through political hoops, thoroughly trouncing giants in border disputes, and still avoiding the daughters of noblemen.

Only Trumpkin ever thinks to ask him _why_ he is so keen to sail East, and Caspian, for the first time since Beruna, tells his most trusted advisor a lie. Only a partial lie, a lie of omission, but a lie nevertheless.

'They were loyal to my father, Trumpkin,' he says, knowing how sincere he sounds and hating himself for the incomplete truth. 'I must make an example to all others that I remember loyalty. And besides, the Lone Islands have not had a visit from a Narnian monarch in over a thousand years. Surely we owe it to them to check on their well-being?'

'And to find out what's happened to the tribute they're supposed to pay us,' Trumpkin adds, diverted as Caspian had hoped he would be. The cost of establishing peace in Narnia had been paid in coin as well as blood, and thirteen hundred years of neglect, as well as a change in commonly-used currencies since the royal coffers had last been opened, from Old Narnian Lions and Trees to Calormene Crescents, meant that royal funds were much depleted. 'We have roads to repair amongst other things, and I must say, if you could sail back with a bit of tribute, it would come in handy,' the Dwarf says ruefully.

And so Caspian promises that he will do his best to make it so, and retreats to his chambers, and tells himself that it would have done Trumpkin no favours nor helped his peace of mind to tell him the truth - that Caspian hopes, amongst all his other goals, to forget the encounter between himself and King Edmund the Just on that latter's last night in Narnia. Hopes to forget the feel of the other king's body against his, the chill of the wind, the tender chastity of the kiss they shared. The tiny, illicit thrill that it had been he who initiated it, and the larger pull of disappointment, maybe even a tinge of shame, that he'd been the one to pull away. And most of all he hopes to convince himself that although King Edmund may yet return to Narnia, the odds that he will return in Caspian's time are so vanishingly small that it is not worth his time to consider the notion.

Caspian knows he needs to find a wife, assure a succession. He promised Aslan and High King Peter that he would do so, and thus hopefully safeguard Narnia from the same sorrow that eventually placed him on the throne. If he hopes to treat such a wife with any kind of honour, he must let go of his memory and attend to duty instead.

**Four Hundred Leagues from Narnia**

Aslan is not kind, thinks Caspian without any kind of rancour. Queen Lucy the Valiant is in Caspian's cabin, hopefully changing into something that isn't so saturated she'll catch her death, and King Edmund the Just is following Caspian out onto the deck. They found them floating in the ocean, of all places. They are the most welcome of guests, of course, but ... Caspian was hoping to be able to forget.

Caspian is older. Edmund is older too. Taller, still lean and spare, still with solemn brown eyes and a wry smile. When Lucy emerges, they discuss the voyage. The two monarchs are still themselves - quick-witted, tactically minded. They recall details from thousands of years ago and from three years ago. It is so pleasant to be able to discuss matters of diplomacy and of ruling with equals that Caspian almost forgets the presence of Eustace, whom he can already tell is going to be a complete waste of time, and almost doesn't notice the tiny glances Edmund is darting at him.

Caspian is going to be strong. He takes the others down to the hold, shows Eustace the bunk, explains about hammocks, all whilst trying to be calm and rational and adult. Older, remember. Not so given to the brief insanities of youth.

On the way back up, Edmund inspects the ship's timbers with a keen and admiring eye. He runs his hand over a rail, meeting Caspian's eyes.

'She's beautiful,' he says. 'You must be proud.'

'I am,' says Caspian, running his thumb over where a nail sits flush in its bed, knowing he looks besotted. 'She is all that I could have hoped for, and her very existence shows all who see her that Narnia is prosperous once more.'

'I'll say she does,' Edmund agrees. 'She reminds me of the old days.'

They stand in silence for a moment, drinking in the ship - the dim light, the warm wood-smell of her, the creak of her timbers and the distant slap of sail - she is a tiny piece of Narnia afloat far away from home, and Caspian loves her.

'And how's your court, Caspian?' Edmund asks, suddenly. His eyes flash mischief. 'Still a snakepit?'

'I cleaned them out a little,' says Caspian nonchalantly. 'Fortunately the history books were most instructive on ancient Narnian political debacles.' Perhaps he isn't as capable of adult rationality as he'd thought. For Aslan's sake, why remind them both of that ill-fated conversation?

But Edmund is laughing silently, the gleam in his eye reveals it, and Caspian is suddenly so, so glad he's here.

**Narrowhaven**

The Governor was a craven little man, and not one of his lackadaisical men had even thought to go out and surmount some high point to try and espy the supposed fleet Caspian had brought with him. Caspian is disgusted with the lot of them, almost disgusted enough to wash his hands of the whole nation and see how they fare as one of Eustace's 'republics'.

The state of the horse that's brought to him is a disgrace. No Narnian would stand for such ill-care. But he mounts up anyway, thinking to order it, and all the other horses in the stables, groomed afresh (and properly) when he returns. But right this instant, he has a much more pressing matter to attend to.

Two days and a night in the slave-pens of Narrowhaven ... that is, if they are still there. They may have been sold off already, to hard-eyed Calormenes or to Lone Islanders wanting house-help or entertainment or bed-warming. Caspian's throat tightens at the idea of Edmund, or Lucy, Reepicheep, even the supremely irritating Eustace, given to such a fate. He can hear the whisperings of the men riding with them, noting that a Calormene merchantman is in dock and surely its master will have been looking with an eye for pretty youngsters to fill the pleasure-palaces that line the river to Tashbaan. Caspian sets his jaw. If they have taken any of his crew, he will order the _Dawn Treader_ about and give chase, and may the seven lords be damned.

He has only just begun to know Edmund and Lucy once more. Lucy is already like a sister to him. And Edmund is his friend, something so precious that Caspian never dreamt of having it. A kiss lies between them, and Caspian _knows_ that Edmund remembers it. Sometimes his glances are so piercing that Caspian feels they lay him bare, something that the boyish youth that is Edmund from England - _Spare Oom_ in the old tales - has kept in common with the eagle-eyed King that Caspian remembers from the battle at Beruna. Caspian cannot bear the idea of those eyes dulled by servitude.

Miraz always chastised young Caspian for his overactive imagination, in the days when it looked like he might inherit after all, before Prunaprismia conceived. Caspian, assailed with images of Edmund in chains, Edmund in rags, Edmund and some gouty Calormene nobleman, cannot help but agree with his late uncle that perhaps an imagination is not the ideal thing to be burdened with if things go ill.

They sweep into the slave pens, and Caspian puts on his best King face and says the words expected of him, lots of 'our royal person' and 'our dominions', aloof and noble, and all the while his eyes search the building, hoping desperately for a shock of dark hair, a merry brown-eyed gaze, to catch his eye.

'We're here, we're here, Caspian!' Caspian, on his best noble behaviour or not, cannot help but breathe a sigh of relief. The crowd parts and he strides towards them, accepting and returning Lucy's hug, Reepicheep's bow. Edmund, however, looks at him with a coolly amused expression, one straight from the battle at Beruna, not from the comrade of the last few weeks, and extends a hand. They shake hands, gravely. He is about to ask for Eustace's whereabouts when the Calormene merchants come to make sure they haven't been cheated of their gold. By the time they are settled, Eustace has been brought forward, unwanted as a slave as he was as a shipboard companion.

'I see. As usual. Been enjoying yourself while the rest of us were prisoners. I suppose you haven't even found out about the British Consul. Of course not.'

Caspian, about to greet Eustace with a friendly handclasp, is taken aback. Lucy laughs, and pats him sympathetically on the shoulder. Caspian turns to Edmund, expecting some quip or other, and welcoming it even at his own expense, after having ridden here in torment from images of Edmund's wit extinguished by the lash - but all he gets is that distant smile again.

**Before the Storm**

They set sail again, a few days later, and the feeling between them all has changed. For a start, Drinian is much more watchful of the Kings and Queen on his ship; warier. After the disaster with the slavers, he daren't lose them again, Caspian supposes, though he wonders a little bitterly exactly where Drinian thinks they'll go, in the middle of the ocean, with precious little hope of finding land ahead. Eustace is still as irritable ever, and even Lucy's patience appears to be wearing a little thin with him. She seeks out the company of her brother and Caspian more often now, but, while Caspian enjoys her conversation, he's still trying to sort out Edmund's change of mood towards him; the other king has become very matter-of-fact all of a sudden, where before he was laughing, joking. It was Edmund the boy, or the man, he met for the first time at the beginning of this voyage, whose company he so enjoyed, and who seemed to enjoy Caspian's presence too.

But _this_, now, is the King Edmund he recalls from their campaign against Miraz. This King Edmund is all business.

Caspian himself is worried. There were no hopeful reports from Lone Island sailors, no indication of land ahead whatsoever. Ever since they set sail again he's been worried that it was the wrong decision, that East is the wrong direction. He wants to ask Edmund's advice, but finds himself shying from the other king - Edmund the Just is intimidating. He wishes he knew how to show Edmund that he doesn't have to be only a boy or only a king, that it is perfectly possible to be both. After all, he, Caspian, ought to know, if anyone ever did.

He also wishes he knew which decision to make - press on for heroism and the sake of the quest and his pride, or turn back, and be assured that his crew will live to see Narnia again.

He makes up his mind to ask Edmund for his thoughts. They are both kings, they are nearly of an age, there is no reason for him to blanch and blush and stammer when he ought to be asking his equal, his _friend_, a simple question. He makes his way down to the hold, having divined from Drinian that the other king had borrowed his maps and retreated in that direction. He descends the steps, heart in a nonsensical turmoil of nervousness. _Stop that_, he tells himself angrily. _He was telling you unsavoury jokes about Calormene soldiers a week ago - he hasn't changed that much_.

'Caspian,' says Edmund, before Caspian can begin to speak. He has a map spread out on a bench, held down with a salt-cellar and a pewter tankard. 'These maps don't extend any further than the Lone Islands, naturally. Have you considered setting some of the men to taking measurements so that we can map any islands we might come across later? You do have surveying tools, don't you?'

'We carry a full complement,' says Caspian. 'I can ask Drinian to see about depth soundings - we are already navigating by such stars as the Old Narnians mentioned as valuable for the task.'

'That's good,' Edmund replies, a bit distractedly. 'And we're doing all right for supplies, aren't we?'

'We are only three days from port,' Caspian points out. 'If we were short of victuals already, I would be worried.'

'Of course. I'm sorry, Caspian,' Edmund says, leaning his chin on his hand and looking frankly at the other king. 'Peter always used to tell me I worried too much.' Caspian moves to sit down with him, thinking to broach his question, but instead Edmund jumps up. 'I think I'll go for a walk on deck,' he says brightly. 'I wanted to ask Drinian what constellations he steers by.'

He leaves abruptly, leaving Caspian bewildered and a bit angry. He sits there for a few more minutes, staring glumly at the maps. _You'd think I smelled,_ he thinks to himself morosely. _Or that I'd come at him with a knife, or something. Birds and Beasts! I just wanted to _talk_ to him!_

After a while, deciding that there is nothing to be gained by sitting and staring at a map of what is, in all reality, the way back, Caspian retreats to bed (well, hammock). He grits his teeth to Eustace's litany of the day's complaints, and wrestles his sea-boots off and gets into his nightshirt in a foul, foul mood.

Edmund comes to the hold a little while after that; Caspian pretends to be asleep. With his eyes almost closed, he can feign slumber whilst watching Edmund hop around on one leg, stripping off his breeches and getting caught off balance by the motion of the ship. The tiny smidgeon of light that comes through from the gaps in the decking above them is enough to illuminate Edmund in pale silver.

Caspian finds himself watching every movement, feeling almost predatory, and there is a growing feeling of heat and tightness between his thighs. Well, at least that's something he knows how to deal with.

He reaches down and takes himself in hand, finding some comfort in the fact that he can at least control _this_, even if he cannot control the ship or the weather or the way his hammock is reacting to his restlessness, or the fact that he _wants_ the youth in the hammock next to his with a ferocity that startles him not a little. He squeezes his eyes tight shut, and bites his lip, and strokes slowly and deliberately at himself, determined to keep control for as long as possible. The hammock moves with him, and he fears it will give him away, for he's hardly in time with the roll of the ship in the swell. but he doesn't care, has to grab this moment, this illusion of being in command _now_, or he might lose it forever.

It's no use. It must have been an illusion truly, for it doesn't last, and he spins out of control far too fast, his throat locking with a moan he daren't give voice to, the canvas both cradling and chafing him, a feeling he's used to, if not so literally. It's what he came out here to escape, in part.

But this whole voyage is going too fast, changing direction on him too often, he thinks angrily as he attempts to clean himself up, hampered by the hammock. He has reigned in Narnia for three years and has never once felt so out of control as he does now. Being uncertain is not something a king ever ought to be. Caspian glares into the dark, clenches hands sticky with his own mess, and makes a decision. He isn't going to hang back any longer. He is going to _do_ something, by Aslan. And if he gets an answer he regrets, at least he will have the certain knowledge that he had the courage to try. Courage in _this_ matter, not in any other, he reminds himself, thinking that it is easier to be brave and make this hard decision than to choose to abandon his pride for the sake of lives, and turn the ship about.

**The Storm**

During the storm, Caspian looks up to see Edmund hauling on a rope, trimming sail frantically. They're both drenched; everyone's drenched; it seems like there's just as much water in the sky as there is in the sea and on the lurching, rolling deck. Edmund tosses his head, flicking soaked hair back from his face, and his eyes catch Caspian's, grim and determined. The rain is leaving nothing to the imagination; his clothes are soaked through, clinging to his sparse frame. Caspian knows he looks the same. Any other time he'd be appreciative; not now. Now they are all fighting the sea for the life of their ship.

It's too late to turn back now, is all Caspian can keep thinking. Rhince's wife may never see him again.

Caspian is helping Rynelf to get control of the sail when, just as the _Dawn Treader_ lurches, Edmund is thrown against the railings and almost topples overboard. Caspian's heart clenches furiously. He wills himself to let go of the rope, to lunge for the other king. But countering that is the knowledge that, if he lets go of the lines, Rynelf may very well be whipped overboard as well, that the sail could be lost, that they could spend the rest of the storm sail-less and wallowing at the mercy of the waves, and the knowledge that taking responsibility means giving up the freedom to make selfish choices. Fortunately, Edmund rights himself in time, hauls himself back up and keeps fighting the ropes and the rain and the wind, but Caspian cannot shake the sick feeling that the sea could snatch him back at any moment.

He cannot even dispel it when they finally make it to their hammocks. He lies awake into the night, listening to the storm howl itself into oblivion, smelling Eustace's poorly-cleaned up vomit, and thinks of a war, three years ago, when a High King threw himself into single combat against a tyrant far older, heavier and more cunning than himself, and wonders if that choice was responsible or selfish. If Edmund had fallen, could Caspian have leapt after him?

It burns his heart to think that he could not have.

**After the Storm**

It is dark and close in the hold. Caspian jumps as questing fingers part the hot, sticky air and touch his hand. Edmund's fingers, thin, rope-burns and callouses evident, and a faint gritty feel that might be salt. They are in their hammocks, but the dry, gentle snores from the bunk suggest that Eustace is asleep, and Caspian's fear of being lost, of having brought this crew out here to die slowly of thirst and hunger leads him to accept this tiny sliver of comfort. He knows Edmund isn't feeling much better; Eustace and Lucy weigh on the other king's mind. Edmund's hand is unnaturally warm in Caspian's, but it is also strong, and reassuring. Edmund has been in situations like this before, in another life. He understands. He must, or he wouldn't ask for this contact, distant as he's been lately.

Perhaps this is why Edmund was so serious, before the battle at Beruna. Perhaps this is why Peter was so reckless. The knowledge that other lives rest on one's decisions is a terrible weight to bear. Caspian isn't so sure he can be just a boy any more. But perhaps, perhaps he can be a man. Perhaps that is where the line lies. Boys can be careless and carefree. They can be princes. Kings need to be men.

Edmund had to be a man so young, Caspian thinks, a trifle sadly. Landing on this boat must have seemed like such a respite from responsibility, until Pug and his men, at least.

Caspian's fingers are gently stroking Edmund's palm, now. He feels Edmund shiver. Suddenly a tiny gleam reveals that Edmund has turned to face him, but the hold is dark as pitch, and as warm and sticky as well. The ship lurches in a swell, and Caspian clutches at Edmund's hand. There is a creak from the other hammock, and Edmund is scrambling out. He feels a lot nearer, now, and Caspian leans precariously out of his hammock, wanting to be closer. This voyage, this danger, is his fault, and the brooding, implacable sea almost frightens him. Caspian wants this comfort. Edmund's heart is pounding, though, and Caspian hates to think about Edmund being nervous, when he has always been so strong.

He leans even closer. 'Be careful, you twit,' hisses Edmund. 'You'll wake Eustace if you fall out.'

'Then I shall not fall,' Caspian mutters, and another lurch later and he is sitting next to Edmund. Their hands are still entwined. Their shoulders are touching. For the first time in weeks, Caspian feels like they are equals, something he has not felt since before Felimath. 'I - we nearly lost you,' says Caspian wretchedly.

Edmund's breath is catching, just a little, and his leg is twitching where it is braced against the planking beneath them. Caspian reaches over and tries to still it with his free hand.

'Do not be afraid,' he says, bracing one palm against the other's knee, the other hand still clasping Edmund's tightly. 'This calm cannot last too much longer. Surely we will reach a current, or find a breeze, sooner or later. Have faith in the ship.' He pauses, not sure if he should say it, but then adds: 'Have faith in Aslan.'

Edmund smothers a slightly bitter laugh. 'It's hard not to,' he mutters quietly, and then: 'We shouldn't be talking.' His order to be silent is too abrupt for his only concern to be his cousin. If Edmund is uncomfortable with speech, then Caspian will be silent. He strokes Edmund's knee, gently, up and down, trying to calm the jitters out of him as he would calm a nervous horse. Edmund seems not to object, for he leans further into Caspian's side. Caspian is relieved that his gesture is being taken in the spirit it was given; he only seeks to comfort Edmund. Of all the people on the ship, only Edmund knows what this sort of suspense is like, and during the day, he is always striding around, making plans, helping and guiding people. But even Edmund the Just cannot be in control all the time, least of all of his own emotions. Caspian lets his hand slip further up Edmund's thigh, lazily and slowly, not wanting to startle the other king. Just like the kiss on the tower - slow, tentative. Edmund is reacting, too, to Caspian's gentle touch in his lap. He suddenly draws a sharp breath, and a rustling sound indicates that he's twisting, trying to see Caspian in the dark, dark hold. Caspian keeps his eyes closed. There is nothing to see anyway; the darkness is too thick.

'Caspian?'

'Sssh.' Caspian strokes more deliberately, showing his purpose clearly, boldly. Edmund draws breath sharply, harshly, trying to stay silent for his cousin's sake but having trouble.

'Caspian, we -'

'Must I gag you?' Caspian asks, feeling a pleasing heat curl in his chest and a little amused by Edmund's small protests. He can tease Edmund, he's learnt on this voyage. He has a sense of humour, or he did before Felimath. He teases Edmund now, hoping to find Edmund the boy, Edmund the _man_, not just Edmund the king, beneath his hands in the dark. 'You asked for silence. You need comfort...' he adds quietly, knowing it to be true. They both do. This ship, in this accursed calm, is overwhelming. It is almost funny that it takes the worst of misfortunes to goad Caspian into seeking what he wants from Edmund - now of all times they do not need distraction, and yet ...

'I -' Edmund begins, but Caspian refuses to let him talk his way out of this. He reaches blindly in the dark for Edmund's head, pulls him around. His lips find Edmund's more by good luck than anything else, and a trace of sea-salt clings to the other's mouth, and there is a smell of sweat and tension around him. It is intoxicating, and Caspian revels in it. He reaches down, smoothing his hand over the bulge in Edmund's thin nightshirt and feeling the shivers that produces. Edmund's head jerks back and hits the bulkhead they're leaning against. While he's gasping at that, Caspian uses the diversion to reach under the nightshirt.

When Edmund's hand lands in Caspian's own lap, Caspian removes it gently. He cannot have distractions. 'Later,' he whispers heatedly into Edmund's ear, speeding up his strokes as he feels the tremble within the other boy's frame that signals impending release. He makes one more, tiny, gentle motion, and Edmund is undone. He bites Caspian's lip as he reaches completion. That reaction has Caspian chuckling, until Edmund practically climbs into his lap and takes him in hand, and then it is no laughing matter.

'Shut up,' Edmund mutters vehemently. 'If I need it, you do too.'

Edmund's touch is tantalising. Caspian has trouble keeping himself silent, especially when Edmund climbs fully into his lap and brings both hands into play. And when he wriggles down further, until he can take Caspian into his mouth -

Caspian does not recall much more from this moment on except heat, moisture, and a building feeling of pressure. When he feels he can take no more he suddenly remembers Edmund, Edmund's inexperience, and, steeling himself, pulls the other away, and back up, to cuddle into his shoulder, and to kiss. Edmund, all determination, snakes a hand back down and finishes him with a few long strokes.

It is a sudden relief, a feeling of contentment. Later, Caspian doesn't know how much later, they clean each other off with their nightshirts and awkwardly scramble, with legs that feel like jelly, back into their hammocks, worn out.

Caspian cannot bear to have their contact cut, though, and reaches out across the divide, and takes Edmund's hand once more.

They take comfort in each other again, a few days later, and slowly Edmund's attitude loosens, until they hit their first island, first landfall after the Lone Islands. That night, they drink, they celebrate, and late into the midnight watch, they manage to break Edmund's hammock through ill-thought-out haste and perhaps a certain fuddling of their senses by wine. Caspian is thankful both that Eustace sleeps like the dead, and that Edmund learnt how to tie a sheet-bend last time he went sailing.

**Dragon Island**

'I must say,' says Edmund as they work away at the pine-trunk that is to become the mast, 'though he probably doesn't think so, Eustace's becoming a dragon's been a spot of luck for the poor old _Dawn Treader_. It'd have taken us days to find a decent tree for a mast, and haul it all the way here.'

'Agreed,' says Caspian, putting down his plane for a moment in order to wipe a hand across his brow. 'We still need more timber, though. I believe your esteemed cousin is taking a foraging party up to the highlands this afternoon. Perhaps you and I might go around the bay and seek suitable trees to make decking from, and look for materials for caulking?'

'In the opposite direction to Eustace and Lucy and Drinian, you mean?' asks Edmund offhandedly, just the hint of a wicked smile lighting his eyes. Even though, despite their intimacies, the laughing boy of the start of the voyage has still largely been supplanted by the King Edmund of old, sometimes when they are alone, Caspian finds he can coax him back.

'Your majesty divines my purpose entirely,' murmurs Caspian, scraping at the pine trunk steadily and carefully, keeping a tight lid on the blush that threatens to rise to his cheeks.

They have marked two suitable trees, both mahogany or something close enough, so far as Edmund's botany can make out, and are both carrying bundles of a coarse-leaved, long-stemmed plant that looks like it might make decent caulking, before Caspian decides he's had Edmund walking tantalisingly in front of him for far too long, and that he'll make him regret that hip-wiggling, teasing gait he's affected all afternoon. Caspian dumps his bundle and catches the back of Edmund's tunic, yanking him around for a kiss. Edmund manages to make a sound probably best recorded as 'mmph!' before he is thrown up against the bole of a tree and Caspian starts removing his clothing with more enthusiasm than dexterity.

'What _are_ you doing?' asks Edmund, when he gets his breath back, with more amusement than Caspian would like. Arousal, he'd be quite happy with, breathlessness, general excitement. _Not_ the tone of voice he last heard Edmund using when teasing his sister.

'What does it look like I'm doing, your Majesty?' he asks, dragging his teeth lightly down Edmund's neck and wondering at his own boldness, for he's still not entirely sure that the flirtation hasn't all been in his overheated mind. Then he checks himself. He keeps making _excuses_ for Edmund's actions and reactions, for Aslan's sake! He keeps backing away. This is not the first time they've touched, kissed, held each other. Unless Drinian has been drugging his water, Edmund has proven amply that he enjoys the feel of Caspian's hands on his body.

Caspian manages to keep the lead for a time; enough time to remove shirts and have breeches around knees, at least, before Edmund, with a grunt of effort, turns the tables and hauls Caspian into a sitting position against the tree, trying to push off his own breeches and yet still keep at least one hand on the olive-toned flesh of Caspian's body. When Caspian tries to help, he is fended off.

'Do you have any idea, any idea at _all_,' asks Edmund almost breathlessly, as he tries to remove every stitch of clothing that either of them is wearing, 'how long I've wanted to do this? All these islands, and disasters, and really, did Aslan have to invite every single member of my family that's younger than me on this little jaunt? If it weren't for that insufferable lump of misery in the bunk we'd've done this weeks ago -'

Caspian laughs at this little monologue, and catches Edmund as the English boy falters, having succeeded in removing their clothing. 'Would we?' he asks, warmly. 'I thought you hated me, after Felimath,' he confesses. 'When you came here, you were so friendly, and then you went back to being ... King Edmund,' he finishes lamely, wrapping his arms about Edmund and pressing a helpless kiss into his shoulder.

'What do you mean, I went back to being King Edmund? That's who I am.'

'You were acting like you did last time. All solemn, and ... I thought I'd done something wrong.'

'Oh,' says Edmund. His gaze drops away. 'I just ... remembered that it's never playtime,' he says. 'Narnia's always in need. I had ... I don't know. I swore an oath, you know. Duty to the realm. I had things to do. It was never you, you idiot.'

Caspian cannot help but kiss him for that revelation. 'Always a King of Narnia,' he says playfully, and ducks Edmund's half-hearted smack. 'But now,' he continues, 'there is time, for both of us, and no-one will follow us for several hours at least.' He slides a hand down Edmund's side, marvelling at the feel of the pale, freckle-dusted skin, and suddenly, once again, unsure. It must show on his face.

'Nervous?' asks Edmund, biting his own lip. He looks rather nervous himself.

'I've ... never done this before,' says Caspian slowly, frustrated at knowing so deeply what he wants and yet not knowing how to go about it. 'Have you ..?'

Edmund's face twists. 'No - not like this,' he says eventually, and pauses. Caspian suspects there is a long story behind that pause, one that he would badly like to know the details of, but it is obvious that it isn't a pleasant recollection for Edmund, so he brings his hand up and cups the English boy's cheek, stroking his thumb over the cheekbone, trying to soothe away the bad thoughts.

'I'm sure we will work something out,' he says, hoping that the turmoil he feels inside will not communicate itself to Edmund.

It doesn't appear to. Tentatively at first, but growing bolder, they explore. They map. Caspian feels like the object of this whole journey of discovery was neither more nor less than to teach him this, to capture him this treasure, however fleeting it might prove to be.

The ground is warm underneath them, underneath Caspian as Edmund pushes him down onto it, and the beauty of the dappled light on the other king's skin, of the feel of rope- and sword-calloused fingers on his skin, and of soft, windburnt lips on his face and neck, drives Caspian to distraction far faster than he would have thought possible, or been happy to admit to. It seems that Edmund has taken to heart the old swordmaster's adage that the best defence is to attack, because from gentleness and restraint he is now aggressive, nipping and pulling and stroking rough and hard and while it is exquisite, Caspian decides that he wants more, and that he wants control.

A little concentration is all that is needed and he has turned the tables once more, pinning Edmund's hands above his head with one of his own, kneeling in between Edmund's thighs (the white skin there so flushed and damp, so tempting, so frighteningly new and desirable), leaning over to kiss him and caress the shell of an ear with lips and tongue. 'It's not a race,' he whispers. 'Calm down.'

Edmund shivers, gasping, trembling even, at Caspian's hold on him. Caspian slows the pace to a crawl, partially to try and soothe Edmund's shakes, and partly to stall for time, still unsure of what to do, exactly. He strokes, gentle and sure, down Edmund's sides, still nestled between his knees, and lets go of his wrists.

Edmund's fingers are scrabbling in the soil as Caspian's get closer and closer down to his thighs, looking for purchase, for leverage that isn't there, and he hisses between his teeth as Caspian finally, slowly takes him in hand. Caspian feels a jolt go through him at that, feels his control slowly ratchet away from him notch by notch as Edmund writhes and gasps and tries to thrust himself against Caspian, seeking friction and heat and speed greater than what he's being given. In the end he yanks Caspian down by the hair, and Caspian loses himself in the wild wetness of Edmund's mouth and the feel of being trapped between his thighs, Edmund's legs wrapped around his hips, bringing them close, together, sliding heat and wetness and sweat, silky, velvety, steely, closer, hotter, harder, tighter, Edmund's hands curling over his shoulders now, fingers biting into the flesh, as Caspian cradles Edmund's face in his hands and tries not to push too hard, tries not to let go and thrust as he wants to, tries so hard to keep control of himself, and yet ...

The forest goes dark in front of his eyes when he comes, when he feels Edmund come just afterwards, and the warmth of Edmund's body against his naked skin is suddenly not warmth, but heat, searing heat. He's conscious of every place they touch as his vision clears, and the sound of Edmund's pulse hammering at that spot just under his ear is deafening. Hands and mouths and half-removed nightshirts are all very well, he thinks, realising what a sticky mess they are, moulded together and with leafmould in Edmund's hair and soil under his fingernails, but this, this is beautiful, as he gets to his knees and then to his feet, trying to find something clean them off with and incidentally discover what happened to his drawers at the same time.

Dusk is falling by the time they make it back to the shadowy hulk of the ship. The distress on Lucy's face, the way Drinian's lips are pressed together to keep in a lecture that he cannot give to one king, let alone two. Caspian fights the urge to look down and shuffle his feet. Instead, he looks Drinian in the eye, trying to convey an apology somehow. Edmund reaches out to Lucy, and is met with a raised eyebrow and a shake of the head before she walks back to the campfire and sits down defiantly next to Reepicheep. Drinian, after thanking Caspian and Edmund a touch perfunctorily for the caulking and taking directions to the mahogany trees, hesitates.

'Your Majesties ought not to wander,' he says finally. 'For who knows what dangers may lurk in these forests? We were all concerned when you could not be found -'

'By Aslan, Drinian,' Caspian starts, irritated at feeling so ashamed and chafed by Drinian's manner. 'We have swords, do we not?' Edmund catches his arm, glares at him. He glances at Drinian, and the man excuses himself and joins their other companions around the fire, leaving Caspian and Edmund alone.

'You must understand his concern,' says Edmund quietly. Caspian's temper is not improving. 'Should he return to Narnia without either of us ... it would be untenable, Caspian. We have to realise that.'

'Am I never to be allowed to please myself, even for an afternoon? Can I never just be Caspian, rather than the King?' He knows he sounds petulant.

Edmund raises an eyebrow, as if he cannot believe that there is even a question there to be asked.

**The Sea Serpent**

There is a small dark space in the shadow of one of the ribs of the ship, beside the rowlocks for the big oars, that two young men can just fit into, if they're staying close to one another. Caspian is grateful for this feature of the design of his ship, because it means that he doesn't have to yank Edmund all the way down to their space in the hold before tugging him into his arms. He can feel his blood hammering in his veins, and feel Edmund's mirroring it. They could have died. They could be drowning in the cold sea right this instant, or eaten by that dreadful worm.

Edmund's leg is between his thighs. This is making it difficult to concentrate on the previous imminence of death.

Edmund's mouth is on his, now, and his blood is still pounding. Being kissed so thoroughly is not helping either.

He doesn't care. He doesn't care that the ship now creaks under tensions she never felt before, that they are going to have to land _again_ to fix her, if there is any land to find. He doesn't care about _anything_, as long as he can have Edmund with him when it happens, whether it's sailing or fighting sea monsters or amazingly good ravishment up against clinker-built wooden ship interiors, apparently, because really, this is -

Footsteps sound in the causeway leading into the holds, and Edmund shoves Caspian away hastily and wipes his now reddened and swollen mouth. Caspian hurriedly pretends to examine casks of stores, while Edmund checks the caulking with a careful eye and shaking hands. Lucy enters the hold.

She looks at Edmund, and raises an eyebrow. He looks away. She looks at Caspian, and raises it further. He doesn't know where to look, and can feel a blush rise on his cheeks. Lucy glares at him for what feels like a further ten minutes, although it is probably only a few seconds, before laughing quietly to herself, and saying, 'I only wanted to check that you two weren't hurt.' She waves her flask of cordial. 'But I see you're both ... fine.'

**After Deathwater Island**

They had an argument. Why is a blur, but they had an argument. Caspian is still, internally, angry about it. Some part of it was about pecking order, he knows that much.

_I'm the King,_ He thinks to himself, kicking one of the rowing benches. _King of Narnia, now, by leave of his brother. He _was_ king. Surely I'm now his successor? But does that mean that I have the authority over him, or that he still has authority over me? No, by Aslan! This is _my_ kingdom, my voyage, my ship!_

'Caspian?' He turns around. Lucy is standing there awkwardly, one hand bracing herself against the bulkhead and the other on her hip. 'I wanted to talk to you,' she says, rather unnecessarily, he thinks. 'Are you all right?'

'I'm fine,' he says irritably. 'Thank you,' he adds, seeing her frown a little.

'I just thought you'd like to know that Ed is standing in my cabin doing exactly the same thing,' she says. 'Muttering and kicking the furnishings, I mean.'

'And why do I need to know that?' he asks with a little scorn in his tone.

She lifts an eyebrow at him. 'Well. If you don't care for him enough to care when he's upset...' There is something steely in her stare.

'Pardon?'

'Caspian, do me the courtesy of assuming I'm not a blind idiot,' she says, and moves closer to him, hopping across from bench to bench, until she's close enough that she can whisper. 'I keep telling myself that I don't know why he's wasting himself on this, when he knows he can't stay,' she says, 'but it's a lie. I know why. Or,' and she squints at him again as he stands there, arms folded and eyes cold, 'I thought I did.'

'This?' He knows what she's referring to, but cannot admit to it.

She shakes her head, and moves away again, towards the bunkroom and the groaning Eustace. It is odd that words and actions so adult and knowing can come from someone who still has to jump to get across the rowing benches. 'Caspian,' she says, when she is almost through the door, 'if I were you, I'd talk to him. Whatever 'this' is.'

Lucy is curiously absent for the rest of the day. It is strange, because the ship is not large, but wherever Caspian goes he finds himself both alone, and in view of Edmund, who looks as sulky as Caspian himself feels. In the end, it is Edmund who approaches him.

'I'm sorry,' he says abruptly.

'Likewise,' says Caspian, after wrestling with himself for a moment. Then: 'I think Lucy knows...' He has no need to say _what_ she knows. Edmund smiles a little, and shakes his head.

'I suppose I was foolish to hope that she wouldn't find out. She's always been irritatingly perceptive. Don't worry about it. She won't shame either of us by letting it out.'

'If you're sure,' says Caspian, a little doubtfully. He steps forward, meaning only to shake hands and make up like men, but Edmund steps away.

'I've been thinking,' he says, raggedly. 'This... Caspian, this isn't... If your men see you, with me, they might think...'

'Think what?'

'Think that you aren't... I don't know. Manly enough, I suppose.'

'What _are_ you talking about?' Caspian asks, exasperated and a little frightened. _We've only just begun to -_ he thinks, realising that Edmund is trying to break off whatever it is they have. _He cannot just -_

'Caspian, you're going to need a wife. Going to need a child. Preferably more than one child. Your men know that, your entire _realm_ knows that, and they're no doubt eagerly awaiting the happy event. It'll mean stability for them. The establishing of a dynasty. No more civil wars, if you want me to be blunt. If rumours spread that your eye roves not over the womenfolk, as it were...' Edmund shrugs. 'We can't risk exciting talk.'

'But -'

'I'm not saying I don't want to,' says Edmund, a little helplessly. 'I'm not saying _never_, either. We might yet, you know, find an opportunity. But we have to be _careful_.'

**The Duffers' Island**

It looks to Caspian like Edmund is drunk. They nudged Lucy and Eustace and the others to bed ages ago. Drinian gave him a sharp look, and Eustace a grumpy one. Edmund offers to help Caspian to bed, but when they reach the bedchamber Edmund decides that Caspian looks unsteady on his feet, and takes it upon himself to guide him inside. Obviously, this is completely unnecessary, but Caspian feels that it would be prudent to indulge the drunkard. Stumbling together and giggling guiltily, they make it as far as the four-poster bed and collapse. Caspian vaguely considers walking Edmund to his own room, because clearly they cannot be seen to have shared a bedroom, but this thought swirls and disappears after a few seconds, to be replaced with serious cogitation about the strange digestive noises emanating from his stomach. He is horrified by the sounds and tries to hold his stomach still. This is more difficult than it should be.

'There are stars on your curtains,' observes Edmund dreamily.

'Yes,' rejoins Caspian gravely, forgetting his belly and observing how Edmund's shirt has come untucked and reveals a sliver of skin, how Edmund's dark hair is tousled against the creamy bedclothes. He wonders why he doesn't reach across and touch this boy, this man, who after all has become his lover, for they haven't touched in days. He just knows that they ought not to. Because one thing will lead to another. And that's ... bad? 'Edmund,' he begins. 'We shouldn't -' _People will see, or hear, or find out_, he thinks.

'Shhh. You think too much,' says Edmund. That is rich, thinks Caspian, coming from 'the Just', the politician, the negotiator and advisor and - and Edmund is rolling over and looking at him with his eyes, dilated by mead and as soft, as warm, as meltingly sweet, as the honey in the wine. 'Shhh,' he says again, getting to his knees on the mattress and crawling over to Caspian, placing an unsteady finger on his lips.

'We cannot,' says Caspian, though the sight before him is more than tempting. 'I... I cannot remember why, but Edmund, Edmund, we mustn't. We mustn't.'

Edmund's lips, when they touch Caspian's throat, are warm and sticky. They trail up to Caspian's ear, his jawline, and Edmund's hands are in his hair, and his eyes are so compelling, and Caspian curses mead more than he has ever cursed anything before, because he knows he wants it but he also knows he cannot have it, although he cannot think why, but somehow he is too drunk to avoid it, and when the kiss comes it is sloppy and lazy and warm and sweet, it is good, so good, and Edmund is pliable beneath his hands. He cannot do this, and he tries to push himself away, and falls off the bed with a great thump. It seems like almost immediately there is a knock at the door, and Drinian's concerned voice asking if he is all right.

'I'm fine, Drinian,' he calls back, and is touched by the concern of his companion, so much so that not long after the man's footsteps fade down the passageway Caspian finds himself crying.

Edmund rolls off the bed too and wraps his arms around Caspian. 'Trust you to be a melancholy old sot,' he says with a sigh. 'Come on, come to bed. I swear I won't ravish you.'

Caspian wakes up before dawn, head hammering, and realises that Edmund is still draped heavy and warm across him. He inches his way out of the bed and into Edmund's room, reasoning that having been drunk enough to mix up rooms is better than having been drunk and shared a room. Now that he is wary of a scandal he sees it everywhere.

At breakfast, Caspian looks up bleary-eyed from his toast, and sees Eustace giving him a measuring sort of look before setting his plate down next to Edmund's. The boy murmurs quietly to his cousin, Caspian cannot hear what, but it makes Edmund stiffen for just a moment, before giving an easy smile and a reply. Eustace shrugs, and before turning to Lucy, gives Caspian one more look. They make eye contact just for a moment, and Eustace raises an eyebrow. That look is more knowing than Caspian is comfortable with.

When they come to embark again, Caspian accidentally brushes up against Edmund while on the gangplank. He smiles involuntarily as he does so, and then looks up. Lucy, Drinian, and Reepicheep are already aboard, having a conversation by the mast. Eustace is aboard as well, leaning against the railing. No-one is looking, but Caspian feels self-conscious all the same, with his fingers treacherously trailing over Edmund's hips. He snatches them back. They _have_ to be more subtle.

Caspian _hates_ being subtle. Really, really hates it.

**The Island Where Dreams Come True**

The dark swirls around Caspian, and he is asleep. He knows he is dreaming, but he cannot wake up. It is dark all around now, and there has been a battle, he can make out the corpses all around. None are clear except Edmund; through the shadows he sees Edmund's face, pale and beautiful in death even though marred with blood and grime, his lips frozen in forming his last few words. Though Caspian hears nothing but distant battle horns, there is a message in this nightmare, winding over the scraping sounds of pirates climbing the mast, of enemy archers' arrows whistling overhead. They have some infernal monster with them; as if it is happening in some other dream he hears himself cry that it is about to settle on the mast.

_If he stays, you will be his monarch, he will be your general. For so he will insist, and you will give in. And you will sit on your throne, alone, as the setting sun warms your face and a messenger, still breathless from his run, tells you of how Edmund fell, and how he died bravely, with your name on his lips and a sword in his fist. For Narnia, and for you._

If he stays, you and he will love passionately and die quickly, like a flame in the dark. And once the light, the lineage you never established, is extinguished, it will plunge Narnia once more into a thousand or more years of darkness.

You know this to be true.

**After Ramandu's Island.**

Caspian is watching Edmund, as they head away from the Island of the Star, and his thoughts are torn in two.

Edmund's quiet. Staring forward at the glassy aquamarine depths before them, not a word passes his lips. Hasn't for hours. He's barely blinked, but Caspian can't take his eyes off him. Edmund stands, close to the prow, and his eyes are for the future, gazing ever ahead at what the dawn may bring.

This cannot bode well, Caspian thinks.

Something is wrong between them, has been wrong since they set sail from Ramandu's island. They have barely touched, barely spoken, and the lack of Edmund creeps across Caspian's skin, reminding him always of what is, will always be, has always been out of reach. But not now. Now, they are together, the two of them, sailing forth into unknown horizons under the benign gaze of Aslan, and yet Edmund will not turn, will not look at him. Will not be with him.

It hurts.

Caspian is surprised by it, every time his gaze falls upon Edmund, surprised and confused by how much it hurts. It shouldn't, nothing should, not here, not under the watchful eye of Aslan himself, within sight of his country. All about them the sea is calm, the sailors are calm, Edmund appears calm, and yet it is not right.

They should be standing together at the prow. Hands clasped, ready to take on whatever the day will bring, wherever it may lead them, together.

A small sigh escapes him, and Caspian turns, striding with an air of purpose below deck. Coming to their space in the hold, he throws himself onto the hammock with an ease born of practice, his face set in a petulant frown.

Whatever lies ahead is Edmund's adventure - the other king's expression, so hungry, plainly claims it. Behind them, Narnia, is Caspian's responsibility. And behind them also is Ramandu's Island, Ramandu's daughter. A charming lady, fair in every way. Everything he looked for in every woman who came to court, and everything he never found. Caspian would dearly love to take her to his people, to show her to them as their new queen, if only she could be queen as Lucy and Susan were to Peter and Edmund. Equals, co-rulers. The people would love her.

Caspian cannot. Not like that. Not like he loves Edmund. Edmund is the sea to him, unknowable, full of adventure, blowing warm and cold and treacherous and constant, but ultimately traversible, if he's prepared to spend his life at it. And he is. But Ramandu's daughter is a star, in every way - just as unknowable, but distant. She is unreachable. Above him. He can run his hand through the waves, feel the sea's silky caress on his skin even as it slips away from him. He can never touch a star.

**Heading East**

The next day, Edmund rises early, padding softly out of the hold. Caspian follows him, hoping for a chance to speak with him, to try once more to clear the fog that has risen between them. He could not sleep the night before, instead spending the long dark watches contemplating what he needs, and what he wants, and the discrepancies between the two. It has made him angry, and spending a morning trying to catch an elusive king has made him angrier.

Angry enough to damn everything, damn subtlety and the sensible decision they made, and go directly to Edmund, busy below decks, spin him around and thrust him against a bulkhead, kissing and biting frantically. Not caring if sailors hear thuds and thumping. They're sailors. This is a matter between kings, and no business of theirs, even if they do hear it. Things shouldn't be this _hard_, Aslan curse it.

Edmund pushes him away after a second. He knows what this is about already, before Caspian murmurs throatily, 'Stay with me. Don't go to Aslan's Country.'

'You're being stupid,' says Edmund in a tight voice, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. 'You know this won't work.'

'I can't go back to Narnia without you,' says Caspian desperately, wanting so badly for Edmund to understand. Perhaps that's unfair. Edmund does understand. But he is implacable. 'Aslan -' Caspian starts hopefully.

'Don't. Be. Stupid,' growls the other king. Caspian has never heard him so angry. 'What if I stayed? What then? I rather doubt that your conservative court would accept me as a consort. And I can hardly take your place as King and install _you_ as _my_ consort. Two kings as equals won't _work_, Caspian. How would Lucy explain to Peter and Susan that I got to stay, when it has all been taken from them? How could I let Lucy go to the End of the World alone? There's more to this than our happiness, don't you see? I have people I cannot let down, and you have an entire kingdom to consider.' Edmund turns away and thumps the ship's timbers. 'Don't make this harder than it has to be,' he whispers, shaking his hand out.

'But I love you,' Caspian says in the quietest voice he has ever used. He doesn't quite know why he says it. Maybe it's to make Edmund turn around - he can't bear the silence. But when Edmund does turn, the look of anguish on his face makes Caspian wish he'd never said it. The look of anger that replaces it makes him wish even harder. Edmund turns on Caspian now, pushes him, shoves him, pummels him mercilessly. When Edmund speaks again, it is in a hoarse whisper; he would be shouting were this conversation about a subject less private.

'Too bad! Too bloody bad, Caspian, because you can't have me! You have a _duty_,' and Edmund snarls the word. It is a barb, a weapon, the way he uses it. 'You have a duty to your people, you have a duty to your crown. Susan and Lucy and Peter and I, we made that mistake, don't you see? We never had heirs. We were selfish, and Narnia suffered under Telmarine rule. And then we came back and we helped you to the throne, and _you cannot throw it away like that_. I am King Edmund, sworn to High King Peter, and I'm no subject of yours, Caspian, and I swear by the mane of Aslan that if you will not go back to Narnia without me I will -' Edmund stops, his face twisting with anger and sadness, unable to think of a threat.

Caspian reaches out for Edmund then, pulls him close, unable to watch his lover's face and not attempt to comfort him. Edmund fights him at first, beating his fists against Caspian's sides and trying to push away, but Caspian feels wetness on his shoulder and knows that Edmund is weeping. He hangs on until Edmund has calmed down.

'I saw you talking to Ramandu's daughter,' Caspian ventures when he thinks it safe. Edmund looks up at him, but not that far up; once again it hits him that he and Edmund are almost of an age, this time.

'I did,' Edmund says.

'You talked about me,' says Caspian, with a sudden premonition of the future. It involves all the things Edmund is pushing him to, and none of Edmund himself. He hates it.

'I did.' The King of Old is defiant. He pushes away from Caspian and stands, feet braced, arms loose by his side. He looks like he is waiting for a fight. Maybe that's what this is.

'Edmund -'

'I know what I'm doing. I've brokered marriages in the past, you know. Just talk to her, Caspian. Please. If you won't do it for Narnia, do it for me.'

'For you?' Caspian knows he sounds bitter and doesn't care. How can Edmund not feel this pain?

'Yes, Caspian, for me. You think it would make it better for me, going back and knowing you're here alone? Knowing that because of me you won't do your duty by Narnia?'

'And how do you think I will feel, being with another for the sake of an heir, when all I can think of is you in my arms? Duty be damned! I demand - I _beg_ of you, Edmund, do not leave me!'

'You're a King of Narnia,' says Edmund, this time turning away for good. 'Duty is all you have. Duty is all you get. It ought to be enough.'


End file.
